Don’t be annoyed, but I’m gunna say he’s dyeing. No big deal of course, routine here. Most of the granddads i’ve bin cataloguing recently in the pics sport the same. Creased and crumpled, but glossy Elvis lustre on top. (You’ll get a little sample portrait gallery shortly and I’ll show ya more when I’m down there later in the month.) The working class man when he’s a performer we tolerate maybe, give him licence. Looks like he does it properly, leaving a dusting of grey around the sides and then the mousey tan on top without any fuss. Not out of the question either some augmentation. Don’t get annoyed now, with $$$ that can be done so’s you’d never notice. After having read the article on the legal proceedings the lyrics make more sense too: 41 shots…. Is it a gun-knife-wallet....More annoyance: that support crew grimacing when their turn comes at the microphone following the Boss’s lead, they really mean it you reckon? Twisting, puckering lips, knotting the brows. As you know, i’ve bin buried in print a looong time. An author’s grimaces at his desk are different, flowing down onto the page kinda without anythin in the mirror. It’s a godsend you don’t often see pics of authors; at least, you know, never usta see. (All homage to Tommie Pynchon, ever and a day!) Here the newspaper sends you cross-eyed daily pretty much. This mornin I think I blurted the F-word over it.... No, it was yester., Sunday mornin. Picture story of the Pres. of the Republic here, lady installed in what they call a “Walkover” election; ie. there ain’t no election cos there ain’t another candidate. The fella they were worried about had been disqualified by the newly prepared criteria, —you had to have managed so many hundreds of millions in your previous admin. role, otherwise how could you hope to steer the ship of State, blahblah. Never mind the ribbon-cutting ceremonials that were the entirety of the gig. (The particular guy concerned, by the name of Tan Chok Beng, gave them a fright few years back when the preferred Presidential candidate only just squeezed home against him by a whisker.) Anyhow, Madam Halima Yacob, attending yet another community function. Here she was pictured rooting for the old ahma striving with a kinda board-game at some recreation centre. In this case a maze sat before the old sweet for entertainment. If you’re coming down with Alzheimer’s, it’s just the thing. Loneliness up in the pigeon holes behind the locks & grills, try this on. The poor old duck, the ahma, the grannie, unfortunately found her ball here stuck in a corner of her maze. Big orange plastic one that ought to be easy to roll, piece of cake, stuck properly. In the lady’s hand a battery operated fan the people use hereabout in the afternoons trying to cope with the heat. What to do then? Blasted thing! Damn ball impossible to get outta there any way she turned it, glued in the corner. You weren’t allowed to cheat with dignitaries, cameras &etc. watchin. Maybe the batteries were low, the PR people and handlers forgot about that for the Pres’s visit. Striving hard, the ahma, grimacing, determined. The Walkover Pres. on $1mil++ directing positive energy at the blasted ball and maybe secretly blowing through her nose trying to get the thing happening. Usually her personable husband was with her, chap who commonly rolled up in his soft-top Porsche coupe to our corner for a cuppa, parking on the stop sign. The fella might have been useful here, mighta found a neat way outta the fix. A Metho Minister in the ring with the Pres. and the others was smiling broadly. Halima herself does not do generous big smiles, not in her line a well-brought up Mussie gal. Halima’s brief was all soft-kindly, encouragement for the community groups seeking to restore the kampung spirit that had somehow gone missing in the piles of concrete, steel and glass. (Search parties were on the look-out high/low for the old community spirit.) Somehow—long bow I know—that back-up crew beside the Boss agonising about the 41 shots suggested a con. A put-on. Performance in short. Maybe the Boss still got some left-over integrity, hasn’t crossed over completely, not sold out. But, you know, might be hard with the stardom, all the pressures, the PR machinery behind. Sorry. I did in fact kinda like the clip. Kinda. But, well, no surprise to you, constitutionally unable to swallow too much of this kinda protest whole—everyone having a good time of it, up for a night out, swinging and swaying, tickets on sale for the show. Call me a hard-ass.
NB. George down in Melbourne, a big fan of the Boss, sent news of the acquittal of the four NY City policemen involved in the shooting of the man in the alcove of his apartment in the Bronx, and followed with the YouTube clip of the Springsteen song.
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